


Three times is enemy action

by un_petit_peu_de_moi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 3 + 1 times Neymar kissed Leo while he was sleeping, FC Barcelona, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10119422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_petit_peu_de_moi/pseuds/un_petit_peu_de_moi
Summary: Neymar can't help kissing Leo when he finds him asleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I answered a bunch of prompts on tumblr, and as this one ended up a bit long I've decided to post it as a story.  
> The prompt here was : _“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”_.

The first time, it goes like this :

 

Messi is taking a nap, which seems to be a rather common occurrence. He’s taking the whole couch, despite the fact there are 23 of them and there’s only two couches in the hotel lounge.

 

That too, seems to be a common occurrence.

 

Neymar is discovering Messi is more human than he thought back when he was playing in Brazil. More selfish, but more generous too.

 

Neymar surveys the room – everyone else went out to visit the town, but Neymar doesn’t fit in that well yet. He thought Messi would have went with them but here he is, and Neymar realizes they’re alone. He doesn’t think he’s ever been alone with Messi before.

 

Neymar came here to watch TV but he doesn’t want to wake Messi up, and so at a loss, he watches Messi instead.

 

Messi’s eyes scare him usually, because he never quite know what to expect – indifference, kindness or fury. Sometimes Messi seems like he couldn’t care less about anything, sometimes he looks like he could tear you apart for stepping the wrong way, and sometimes his eyes are as kind and soft as if he’d been saying _you’ll be ok_.

 

But Messi’s eyes are closed now.

 

Neymar walks up the couch, studying his face.

 

It’s pretty he thinks. The way his dark hair and dark eyelashes look on his pale, white skin.

 

He crouches down in front of him, level with his face. It’s intimately close.

 

Messi has a rather big nose. It should be ugly, but Neymar thinks of his own, large nose, and smiles. He did always like big noses.

 

Messi’s eyes are closed today and he looks relaxed. He’s serene and peaceful in a way Neymar has never seen him. His lips are slightly open, letting out regular, even breaths that Neymar feels against his forehead.

 

He feels like a voyeur – he probably is a voyeur – but he wants in of that calmness too.

 

He leans in, and presses his lips against Messi’s.

 

–

 

The second time, it goes like this :

 

Neymar doesn’t usually room with Leo, but Masche isn’t usually injured either.

 

Neymar was excited about the prospect – the games they would play! The movies they would watch! He could already see them, side by side on a bed, Leo laughing as Neymar showed him funny youtube. It was an opportunity that Neymar couldn’t waste.

 

Yet, when he comes out of the bathroom, a big smile on his face, ready for the night to last forever, he finds Leo into his bed, fast asleep.

 

To put it simply, Neymar is disappointed.

 

He drops down on his own bed and watches sadly at the sheets moving up and down with Leo’s breathing. He thinks of his laptop, of the games he’d packed in his bag, of the secrets he’d planned on sharing with Leo.

 

He’s got half a mind to wake him up but he’s heard tales about Leo being groggy when woken up, and he doesn’t want to expose himself to Leo’s fury.

 

He gets up and quietly makes his way to his bed.

 

He really is sleeping. The light from the bathroom is casting weird shadows over Leo’s face, but they slip away when Neymar steps in, covering Leo’s features with his own shadow.

 

Neymar kinda wants to slip in that bed too. He’d like to lay close enough to him that he feels his breath over his face. He’d like to close his eyes and relish in Leo’s serenity, embrace it and take it in, let it make him a better person. He’d like to fall asleep, and be the first thing Leo sees tomorrow when he opens his eyes. He’d like Leo not to be angered by it.

 

Neymar is careful as he leans down, delicately pressing his lips to Leo’s cheeks – it itches. Neymar wonders what Leo would look like with a full-blown beard.

 

He moves down and steals Leo’s mouth in a chaste kiss, opens his mouth slightly so he can feel him exhale.

 

 _For my trouble_ , he thinks, before heading to his own bed.

 

–

 

The third time, it goes like this :

 

The world usually stops turning when Leo leaves the field injured. Nothing is right, not until they know _what_ and _how long_.

 

At least, nothing feels right for Neymar.

 

They won, he knows, but doesn’t care, worry making him head to the infirmary first thing once the match is over.

 

“They’re taking him to the hospital to run complementary test in a few,” one medic tells him, meaning they don’t know _what_ yet, they don’t know _how long_.

 

The room is empty when Neymar reaches it – the doctors are busy outside, making reports, calling other doctors, taking care of the players that gained a few bruises during the match.

 

The room is empty, except for Leo, laying on a white bed, dressed down to his shorts.

 

His eyes are closed and it looks like he’s sleeping. He doesn’t quite look peaceful though.

 

Neymar tiptoes closer to him, pained at the turmoil obvious in Leo’s face, the frustration and the anger printed into his frown lines.

 

Neymar would like to smooth them down. He’d like to brush Leo’s hair back and hold his hand and tell him it’s alright. He’d like to demand to be taken to the hospital to stay at Leo’s sides, to fall asleep next to his hospital bed, holding his hand like a grieving widow, to take care of him back at home once they know _what_ and _how long_ , to make Leo smile and forget there’s that itch under his skin that’s telling him to run even though his legs can’t, not yet.

 

Neymar would like all of that, but he hears the doctors talking in the corridor, and he never figured out how to ease Leo’s worry.

 

He leans down and kisses Leo – urgently, harsher than the previous times _(there shouldn’t even be previous times)_.

 

“Get well soon,” he whispers, demands, before he leaves the room, brushing past medics and busy staff.

 

He should stop doing that, he thinks.

 

He’s also pretty sure he won’t.

 

–

 

Then one time, it goes like this :

 

Life is sweet when you’re winning. When your clothes are damp with champagne, your phone is full of congratulatory messages and the press is singing praises about how good you are.

 

The Champion’s League – that’s the stuff dreams are made of.

 

Then there’s Leo, laying peacefully on his hotel room bed, his lips quirked upwards even as he’s sleeping. That’s also the stuff dreams are made of.

 

Neymar isn’t sure whose room this is. Luis or Geri, or Masche maybe. Usually they’re the one sharing a room with Leo, and then sometimes they have single rooms, but Neymar has been partying for the better part of the night, hasn’t been to his own room once, and he doesn’t quite remember the number.

 

Trust Leo to leave first so he could catch some sleep, he thinks with fondness.

 

It’s a habit by now – he’s already done it three times anyway, he knows it’s no use fighting it. He makes his way to Leo’s bed, watching him sleep, phone loosely held in his hand and shorts low enough that he can see his pubes – or lack thereof.

 

He smiles widely before leaning down, closing his eyes as he reaches for Leo’s lips.

 

Doesn’t quite make it there.

 

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

 

Neymar hears the words, feels them breathed against his lips. His eyes flash open and he stares directly into Leo’s dark irises.

 

Leo stares expectantly, seemingly calm even though Neymar feels like he’s going to pass out. He feels the beat of his heart down to the tip of his tongue, and his brain can’t come up with anything besides fear.

 

Leo doesn’t have to lift his head much to reach his mouth. He catches it between his and kisses him, warm and sweet like hot chocolate.

 

And against his numb lips he whispers, “I owe you three.”


End file.
